


Like a Path Beyond the Grave

by thornfield_girl



Category: Justified
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-09-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornfield_girl/pseuds/thornfield_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world has changed. Some things just seem less important than they once were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Path Beyond the Grave

With consciousness comes an awareness of an almost debilitating pain in his head. Boyd doesn’t even try to open his eyes. He searches his mind as best he can through his agony and finds nothing. 

His first thought is that he must have downed an entire bottle of Jimmy the night before, but he can’t imagine why he would have done such a thing. He barely drinks these days. You have to keep a clear head. Some people are doing a lot of drinking as of late, but as far as he’s concerned, they’re either fucking morons, or suicidal. Not that he can truly judge them for that.

After this train of thought grinds to a halt, he realizes he’s lying on the floor. It feels gritty, filthy. Not like Ava's house. And it’s cold. 

He tries to sit up, and only then does he realize that his hands and feet are bound. Whatever his attacker did or gave to him, it fucked up his head real good.

He forces himself to open his eyes, and the pain multiplies as the light comes streaming in. He’s certain it’s probably pretty weak light, but to him at that moment, it feels like staring into the damn sun. 

He doesn't recognize the room, or anything in it, until his eyes light upon a hat on a beat up old dresser - _the_ hat, the one Raylan Givens had taken to wearing, at some unfortunate point in the years after Boyd had lost any influence over his choices. 

"Raylan?" He tries to call out the name, but his voice comes out in a barely audible whisper. He tries to lick his lips and clear his throat, but it does nothing. 

He manages to roll over onto his knees and elbows, then struggle upright. He’s next to a bed, with a filthy, thin, bare mattress on it, and a blanket balled up at the end. He thinks it’s possible that he was in it at some point, and maybe he rolled out. 

He calls out again, this time with a little more volume, and he hears footsteps outside the door. It opens slowly, and Raylan steps in, gun held high and aimed in his direction. He lowers it, then holsters it when he is satisfied that Boyd is still tied up. 

Boyd croaks out, “What the hell, Raylan?”

“You don’t remember, I guess.” He’s frowning, but not in anger. Not how he usually looks at Boyd these days. There’s no hot anger, no cold contempt, no stunned disbelief. There’s pain, though, and he looks scared. Boyd hasn’t seen that on his face since the old days, since the mine, since he still lived in Arlo’s house. 

Now Boyd does feel afraid, and he is suddenly aware of something on his shoulder... a bandage? He can’t feel any pain there, but he knows that’s how it is for people. When they bite you, it hurts like the devil for a minute, and then it goes numb. 

Raylan walks over and sits on end of the bed, keeping some distance between them. He swipes at his face and tells Boyd about it. Boyd remembers Raylan coming into the bar at some point, asking questions, eyes flashing with anger, not like before. 

There was once a time when he’d welcomed Raylan’s visits, looked forward to them, even. Boyd would flirt, Raylan would pretend not to like it, and they’d grin these predatory grins at each other. He had always wondered if it cranked Raylan up as much as it did him, if maybe he went back to Lexington and fucked that pretty blonde bartender that Ava had told him about, and if maybe his thoughts weren’t focused entirely on her when he did. Boyd had never done that to Ava, though; he didn’t want that to intrude on what he had with her. Raylan was already in between them enough, just from her end.

Lately, Boyd has been pretty sure that if he tried to flirt, he’d end up on the floor with a bloody nose. And really, he isn’t feeling it either, anymore. They’d hurt each other so much that the sparks burn them now, where they used to only give off heat.

Three of the Dead had pushed in past a customer as he came through the door, and by the time Raylan had drawn and shot two of them, the third was on Boyd, tearing into his shoulder. Those fuckers were strong, ridiculously so, and they didn’t seem to feel pain. Rayland had grabbed it by the collar of its flannel shirt and pulled it back, then held the gun to its head and shot it.

Everyone else in the bar had backed away as Boyd fell to the floor, clutching at his shoulder. He’d passed out a few minutes later. Raylan had ordered a few men to help him drag the bodies of the Dead out back, soak them in vodka and set them on fire. 

It's standard practice these days, as there are not enough public resources to keep up with the piles of disease-ridden Dead. Only officers of the law are supposed to do it, but everyone knows that's not practical. You aren't going to leave those disgusting things to lie around in the sun for as long as it takes for a cop to get there, especially these days.

Raylan had cleaned Boyd's wound and patched it up with supplies from a first aid kit behind the bar. He'd loaded him into the back of his car, locked the bar with Boyd's keys, and driven him here. 

"We’re at Arlo's house," Raylan tells him. "It was the closest place I could think of. I didn't want to bring you back to Ava's like this. She-"

"Okay. Thank you for that, Raylan," Boyd said softly. 

They sit quietly for a bit, and then Boyd asks him how long Raylan thought they'd have to wait. Raylan pulls out his phone and checks the time. 

"Couple, three hours maybe. Takes around a full day, and it's been pretty close to that." Raylan speaks in a matter of fact way, but his eyes flick up to meet Boyd's for half a second. "You want help getting back onto the bed? I gotta leave you tied up though."

"Alright."

Raylan pulls him to his feet, and when Boyd nearly blacks out from dizziness and pain, he wraps an arm around his waist and lowers him gently to the mattress. As Raylan pulls away from him, Boyd opens his eyes and gives him the faintest ghost of a smile. Raylan snorts softly and pats him on the side before standing up. 

"You want some water, Boyd?" Raylan asks.

"That would be very welcome, thanks."

Raylan goes off to fetch it, and Boyd closes his eyes, tries not to think. 

Raylan comes back with water and some Tylenol with codeine in a bottle with his own name on it. Boyd swallows three of them with the water, then gulps down half of the glass at once. 

He hands the glass back to Raylan and lies back. Raylan walks over to set the glass on the dresser, then turns back to Boyd. "You want me to stay in here with you or leave you alone?"

Boyd sighs, wishes he were more surprised that Raylan would ask that, and says, "Stay, please."

Raylan nods and sits on the floor, leaning up against the bed. 

After awhile, Boyd says, "I saw on the news they estimate only about ten percent of the population has the immunity gene."

"There's no way they can know that yet, Boyd." Raylan cranes around to look at him. "Anyway, percentages don't matter. We just have to wait and see."

"I know. Still, we should both be prepared for it."

"You scared?" Raylan asks this calmly, with little inflection. 

Boyd takes some time before answering. He thinks about leaving Ava behind, and he feels sad for her. He thinks about Raylan having to kill him, and he feels sorry for that, too. Scared, though... he's not sure if he needs to be.

"I won't know, will I? There's no... awareness once you turn."

Raylan shrugged. "Seems that way."

"Do it quick, Raylan. As soon as you know."

"Yep." 

Boyd has things he needs to say to Raylan. He's been holding them for a long time, but he can't bring himself to start. Those things are too hard, too painful, and he doesn't want to say them.

In the end, he talks about other things. He talks of times long past and made more beautiful than they really were with the passage of the years. Under any other circumstances, these things would have been just as impossible to bring up, but these are not those circumstances. 

They talk, not about feelings, but about actions. They tell each other stories about themselves that remind them that who they are now is not all of who they ever were. 

"You remember that time we met those girls from over in Cumberland?" Boyd grinned when Raylan brought that one up. Those girls had been a year or two older, game as hell, and they had their own place.

"I remember. They asked what we wanted them to do, and you said they should make out with each other."

Raylan laughed. "Which was all well and good until they wanted us to reciprocate."

"Fair's fair," Boyd replied, smiling.

"Not that I minded, I was just afraid it might get around."

They'd fucked those girls lying side by side, close enough to touch if they'd chosen to. When they'd dropped the girls off, the one Boyd had been with gave him a kiss and said, "Any time you and your boyfriend want to fool around again, you just give me a call, honey."

Boyd had run into her a few years later when she was working as a cashier at a gas station. She was pregnant, no wedding ring, and looked a little worse for wear, but she'd still given him a saucy wink and said, "I'm still waitin' on that call, cutie." Boyd had grinned back at her and filled up his tank. 

Suddenly, it occurs to Boyd to wonder if she's still among the Living. Her and that baby, who would be grown by now. The grin falls from his face and he shivers.

Raylan has an arm on the bed and is propping his head up on it. He looks up when Boyd shudders and says, "You want the blanket?"

"Yeah, I guess," he replies, and Raylan gets up to straighten it out. Boyd watches him shake it out and pull it up to cover him, displaying more tenderness than he had seen from him in more than twenty years. 

Raylan sits on the side of the bed next to him, lays a hand on his leg and says nothing. Boyd doesn't quite know what to say either, but he's glad it's Raylan here with him now. It seems right, somehow. 

"Hey," Boyd says after a long stretch of silence, "Does Ava know what's going on?"

"I called to tell her you were going to be gone tonight. I'm sure she heard what happened at the bar and can put two and two together. I didn't tell her where we'd be. She don't need to see that." Raylan looks directly at him then, almost as if he's asking a question, as if he's not sure he made the right call. 

"That's good, Raylan," he assures him. "You'll let her know when it's over."

"I'll head there as soon as this is done. Either to drop you off, or..."

"Yeah. Seems like we were always headed this way, kinda, don't it?" Boyd sees Raylan close his eyes at those words, old guilt surfacing for a moment. 

"Not always, Boyd," he says, his voice maybe a little rough. 

Boyd nods, because he can't deny that they started out very far from here, far from where they were when Raylan returned to Harlan like the prodigal son. He wants to reach out for him, but he can't, of course. 

Maybe Raylan reads him, somehow, knows what he wants but can't ask for. Or maybe he's just seeking a measure of comfort himself in what has become an almost unbearably harsh world. Either way, he lies down next to Boyd and gathers him up in his arms. 

It's nothing like the old days. There's no fierce longing, no desperation, no hot flicker of fear that was always part of it too. All this is, is the other thing. It's the thing they'd given each other that they'd needed most then, and even more so now.

Raylan startles him out of his thoughts with a question. "Did you ever tell her?" 

Boyd doesn't have to ask what he means. "Ava?" he says, "Yeah, actually I did. She said she liked it that we had you in common."

Raylan snorts in surprise and says, "No wonder you love her."

"Raylan, do you think... you could look in on her from time to time? I know you can't be here all the time, but-"

"I'll keep an eye on her."

"If you ever... if the two of you were to reconnect, eventually, that would be... I wouldn't object to that." 

Raylan rubs his hand over Boyd's arm, up to the shoulder and rests it there. He says, "I'm pretty sure it's too late for all that. I ain't exactly her favorite person."

Boyd makes a dismissive sound and says, "She's still at least half in love with you."

"She loves you, Boyd. And I never was in love with her, you know, which ain't what she deserved."

"Maybe that's another thing she and I have in common." 

Raylan frowns at him, huffs out a soft breath, not quite a laugh, and says, "That's what you think, huh."

The room is getting darker, and Boyd isn't sure how much time has passed, but he's sure the time is coming soon. His cheek is resting on Raylan's jacket, and he tilts his face up. 

"Raylan, maybe you shouldn't be so close to me now. If I turn real quick, I don't want to hurt you."

"That's okay. I'm immune." Raylan pulls him in a little closer.

"You've been bit?" 

"Early on, before we really knew what the fuck was going on and had procedures in place. Lexington ain't a great place to be right now. I can only imagine what it must be like in Atlanta, or New York, or LA."

"So you know what it's like to wait this out," Boyd says. "I wish I could have been there to help you like you're helping me."

"You've helped me plenty of times." Raylan says this in a voice that sounds final, like this is how he's decided to look at it, and the rest is irrelevant. Boyd doesn't feel like he can leave it at that, though. 

"I know I hurt you. I'd like to say I didn't mean to, but I think maybe I did. Part of me did." 

"I already figured that out, Boyd, a long time ago. That's not what I want to talk about now. That's not how I want this to end." 

"It's gonna end with you putting a bullet in me, Raylan. We both know that." Boyd doesn't want reassurance, or pity. All he wants is for them to face this honestly, and for Raylan to be prepared to do what has to be done.

"That ain't the end. The end comes before that. But until it does, it's just you and me here. None of that other shit matters, not here, not now."

"And if I live?" 

"We'll worry about that when it happens."

"It's gotta be almost time." Boyd hadn't been too scared before, but he was now. He could feel it churning in his gut. 

"When it happens, it'll be time. Just... try to stop thinking about it." Raylan sort of mumbles the last two words, because he knows its an absurd thing to say. He looks at Boyd, who laughs weakly at him. "Sorry. That's fucking stupid," he says. 

Boyd closes his eyes and lets out a long, shaky breath, then sucks it back in when he feels Raylan's mouth on his. He pulls back slightly and says, "What the hell are you doing, Raylan?"

"Trying to distract you. Did it work?" 

"Well... I suppose it did. Man, it's been a long time." He smiles at Raylan. "Try it again, if you want." 

"Alright," Raylan says, smiling back at him, and he does. They make out for a little while, and mostly it's just sweet, and a little sad. There's no question of it going further, even setting aside Boyd's likely imminent transformation. Still, it's a nice way to end things, if this is to be the end. 

Raylan's hand is on his face, and in his hair, and they're looking at one another in the dim light. He wants to tell Raylan thank you, and that he's missed him. He opens his mouth to do that, but no words will come. A piercing, white hot pain suddenly feels like it's splitting his head in half, and he sees Raylan jerk back from him. 

Raylan is standing, hand at his hip, staring with wide eyes. Boyd is hoping that his mind leaves him soon, because he doesn't want to see this, doesn't want to know it.

Raylan takes a few steps back towards the bed, and Boyd sees everything in the most vivid detail he's ever experienced. Even in the low light, he can see the weave of the fabric of Raylan's shirt, the smudge of ash on his temple, his damp, red-rimmed eyes. 

Boyd's hands and feet are going numb now, and there's pain all through the rest of him. He knows he's Dying. There's no natural death first, with this, although the autopsies have shown that the people who have turned were, in fact, truly dead when they were still walking around.

He wants so badly to shout at Raylan, to get it over with, to make it stop. This is the end he'd spoken of, this was it. 

Boyd watches Raylan pull, and aim the gun at his head. "I'm sorry, Boyd. Goodbye." He blinks hard, then-


End file.
